


Nineteen Ways to Seduce a Bald Billionaire

by wheel_pen



Series: Lucy [16]
Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 10:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Executive Vice-President is visiting some employees, and one nameless intern just doesn’t fit in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nineteen Ways to Seduce a Bald Billionaire

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Lucy, my original character, is Clark’s cousin on the Kent side. Although human she may have some strange psychic powers and definitely has some issues in her past. She’s having a tough time with her mom and goes to live with Jonathan and Martha for a while. She and Lex form a relationship.
> 
> 2\. In my world, Lex eventually becomes President. And his staff is from The West Wing. 
> 
> 3\. I started writing this series during the third season of Smallville, so it diverges from canon then or earlier.
> 
> 4\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

Mike Withrow was not having a great day. First, the only secretary who knew how to use the new copy machine had called in “sick”—aka, there was a sale at Bloomingdale’s—yet again, just when he needed copies of those records from Accounting pronto. And then when he had gone to grab himself a couple of his favorite kind of black pen, he found that someone had already taken the last ones and left just the empty box behind, forcing him to use the cheap brand that blobbed ink everywhere. Even the coffee, normally his savior, had turned against him; although expertly brewed by a co-worker who had slummed in a coffee shop all through college, it had some stupid nutty fruity flavor to it that no amount of cream and sugar could conceal.

And to top it all off, sitting in his boss’s office, not fifty feet away, _right now_ , was the Executive Vice-President for the whole freaking company. O’Malley had been riding them for the last two weeks about this meeting, making sure all the reports were double-checked and triple-checked and quadruple-checked, getting any file that could possibly be needed updated and properly filed, ordering everyone to clean up their workspace… They were especially enjoined to remove any of the “light-hearted-slash-potentially-offensive” anti-Luthor jokes that the offices tended to generate and pass among themselves--several amusing photo manipulations, fake e-mails, and cartoons had been quickly tucked away in drawers or cabinets, only to see the light of day again if the meeting went well enough to put their boss in a generous mood… or poorly enough to make him condone a little revenge, no matter how petty, against their corporate overlords.

Withrow had been working especially hard with _his_ section—they were decent folks, talented and conscientious, not ones to blow off work on a big day (unlike a certain person in the clerical pool), but sometimes they were a little too clever for their own good, and he had to be firm with them about showing Luthor Junior the respect he deserved. Not that anyone was going to spit in his face, of course, but he’d already reprimanded Janine for trying to convince everyone it’d be really hilarious for them all to have a hat, just a hat, sitting on each of their desks. She claimed it was too subtle for anyone to pick up on; Withrow told her not to underestimate anyone who’d made Executive Vice-President by twenty-six, even if he _was_ the heir apparent.

But, on the appointed day, the man who was younger than his oldest son had— _sauntered_ , really—into the office, with his expensive suit, bald head, and, refreshingly, not nearly as much attitude as Withrow had feared. At least from what he’d seen as Luthor walked by into O’Malley’s office.

He’d come with his own security, though, a gaggle of dark-suited men with wires in their ears, not a bad precaution when you considered how near-death experiences seemed to trail him like ambitious socialites. The bodyguards had fanned out in some kind of pattern that Withrow supposed was mathematically proven to apprehend assailants more efficiently, although it didn’t make a lot of sense to _him_. There were a couple outside O’Malley’s door, one at each end of the hallway, and, most inexplicably, one on either side of the bulletin board just behind the coffee cart. Most of the office workers seemed to find the guards’ presence a little intimidating and stayed away from them—everyone except for one intern he didn’t recognize, who was sipping some water and smirking at the motivational lists currently crowding the bulletin board.

Withrow didn’t see what was particularly amusing about “Six Tips to Improve Workplace Communications” or “Twelve Ways to Increase Your Office Productivity.” But he _did_ notice something else that got him out of his chair and into her personal space.

“Hey, hey, redhead girl,” Withrow called, marching up to her. She turned around in surprise, obviously not used to be addressed in such a manner. “You’re new around here, right?”

“Um, yeah,” she replied, reaching out a hand. “I’m—“

Withrow shook his head. “I don’t need to know your name.” She arched a red eyebrow at him and dropped her hand. “Probably your first or second day, huh?” He didn’t wait for her to reply. “Well, look, I know you’re used to wearing whatever you want around campus or the mall or wherever you came from, but _this_ ”—he gestured at the office around them—“is a _professional_ workplace.”

“’Nineteen Ways to Seduce a Bald Billionaire’?” the girl asked with some amusement, indicating the bulletin board.

Withrow stared at her for a moment, then turned in horror towards the board. In between “Nine Time-Management Strategies” and “Fourteen Methods to Inspire Leadership” was another innocuous-looking list, typed in the same bland font as all the others… but it offered advice of a decidedly _non_ -professional kind. Withrow snatched it down angrily; the thumbtack that had affixed it to the cork went flying. He crumpled the paper and stuffed it into his pocket, resolved to deal with it as soon as he put this intern in her place.

“You were saying?” the redhead prompted pleasantly.

Withrow cleared his throat and faced her sternly. She couldn’t have been more than twenty, but that was no excuse. O’Malley would kill him if he noticed anything amiss in his section while the Exec VP was around. “I was _saying_ ,” he continued, as though the interruption had not occurred, “that we have a very strict dress code here at LuthorCorp, which you are currently violating with that particular outfit.” They both looked down at her blue cropped cardigan, slim blue-and-green flowered skirt, and high-heeled sandals. “I suggest you go home and change into something that goes a little bit higher up”—he vaguely indicated the three undone top buttons—“and a little bit lower down”—the bare couple of inches of belly above the waistband of her skirt were highlighted. “And,” Withrow added for good measure, “excessive personal jewelry is discouraged.”

“My necklace is excessive?” the girl asked in confusion, automatically playing with the three golden rings dangling from the chain around her neck.

“Company policy,” he replied firmly. “Now, as it’s before noon, I expect to see you back here after you’ve changed. I suppose if you have a coat or something, you could just wear that the rest of the day, but tomorrow—“

“Is there a problem here?”

Withrow turned towards the unfamiliar voice and his knees almost gave out when he saw the bald billionaire himself standing there, his immaculate black suit and silk shirt making the older man feel wrinkled, pedestrian, and somehow ineffectual—even if the shirt _was_ lavender. “Um…” he answered articulately.

The Executive Vice-President held out his hand. “Lex Luthor,” he offered easily, as if there was even a small chance Withrow didn’t know who he was. “And you are…?”

“Withrow, Mike Withrow,” he explained, shaking hands firmly. He cleared his throat. “No problem at all, Mr. Luthor, just, uh—setting the new intern straight about corporate dress code.” He tried to speak with reassurance and authority but ended up faltering a bit when he spotted O’Malley frantically signaling to him from behind Luthor. Withrow had no idea what his boss was trying to communicate, however. He had never been good at charades.

The young executive was, meanwhile, taking the opportunity to size up the intern’s outfit in a manner that Withrow wasn’t entirely comfortable with, and the girl blushed and smiled a little too fetchingly under his gaze. Great, the last thing he needed was to be called as a witness in a sexual harassment lawsuit against a Luthor. “Well,” the younger man finally admitted, speaking directly to the redhead, “I’m afraid we _do_ have a rather strict dress code policy. But,” he added with a charming smile, leaning a hand on the wall almost exactly where the scurrilous list had been, “I think we could make an exception for you.” Withrow’s eyes widened in horror.

“Do you think my necklace is excessive?” the girl asked sweetly, fingers threading through the lowest loop. Withrow made a mental note to have her fired as quickly as possible, a kind of preventive maintenance. She had ‘trouble’ written all over her.

“No,” Luthor replied after some thorough consideration. “But would you like one that _is_?”

Some kind of involuntary choking noise escaped Withrow’s throat and O’Malley started to swoop in, hopefully to dissuade the young executive from running off with the starstruck intern. Luthor cut him off without a backward glance. “Mr. Withrow,” he began, and his smile for the older man became just a touch colder, “I take it you haven’t been formally introduced to my wife.”

Withrow narrowed his eyes in puzzlement, then looked around as if expecting to see a furious heiress appear glaring daggers at the little intern. He turned to O’Malley for assistance, only to see a despairing expression on his boss’s face. So he faced Luthor again, confusion evident. The executive raised both eyebrows, utterly bemused, and the redhead held out her hand to Withrow for the second time. “Lucy Luthor,” she told him cheerfully.

Withrow reached for the hand automatically but dropped it after barely a touch when realization struck. _Oh, s—t, the mortgage_ , was all that went through his mind. That and images of himself living in a refrigerator box down on Seventh Avenue, after Lex Luthor had him blacklisted at every reputable company in town. He’d be doing economic analyses for the Mob or some underground hard-core porn operation. What would his mother say to _that_?

“Mr. Withrow?” He snapped back to reality with the impression his name had been said more than once. Luthor was actually looking at him with some concern. “I was just telling your boss how pleased I was with your department’s progress this quarter.” Withrow let out a few incomprehensible sounds in reply. “Keep up the good work,” Luthor encouraged, in a tone that would have seemed slightly sardonic, if Withrow’s brain had been processing speech fully. “O’Malley.”

The departmental director sighed and nodded good-bye to the young executive, who took his wife’s arm and strolled casually out of the office, posse of security guards surrounding them. Withrow turned to his boss in horror, eyes pleading, but O’Malley just shook his head and laid a hand on his shoulder in an attempt at a comforting gesture. Maybe Luthor would at least allow him a nice, _big_ refrigerator box?

 

“That was fun,” Lucy giggled as they stepped out into the hall. “Let’s go to another floor and do it again, before they can spread the word.”

“You know,” Lex commented, pulling her closer, “if you enjoy this kind of thing…” He whispered in her ear. “…we could always play ‘angry executive and naughty intern’ when we get home.”

“Yeah, but who gets to be who?” she replied coyly, almost giving him a kiss before ducking away.

“We’ll take turns,” Lex assured her, drawing her back.

“Lex,” Lucy began more seriously, straightening his collar, “you aren’t going to fire that guy, are you?”

Lex sighed heavily, as if she were asking for something he was loathe to give. “I guess not,” he decided. “But I’m going to wait a couple days before I tell him that.”


End file.
